


What We Don't Say Aloud

by consultingthebees



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingthebees/pseuds/consultingthebees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These were the nights when the words "I love you" did not need to be spoken aloud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Don't Say Aloud

The London chill was an old friend. Especially in 221b Baker Street where it seemed as if Sherlock Holmes always had to be conducting an experiment on the heating system. Yelling at him about the whole matter certainly got him no where though, John had learned through the years.

When a experiment was the cause for an impulsive action from Sherlock, there was no such thing as reasoning.

Some nights, John could be easily reminded why it was that he loved this brilliant and insufferable genius. The nights when the evidence were clear to only Sherlock that his lover's war wound was aching from the deep chill settled into the walls of their flat.

On these nights, Sherlock would set John in his chair by the lit fireplace and wrap a warm blanket gently around his strained, cold body.

Always placing a gentle kiss to the man's temple first, Sherlock would smile down at his doctor- his his his oh so wonderfully his- before slowly moving around the flat with the grace of a ballet dancer to pick up his precious, beloved violin and bow to put the two together in a such a way that was its own masterpiece alone.

Those nights of cold to the aging man of John Watson were nights when Sherlock Holmes- the most silently loving and caring man the world has ever had the pleasure of not noticing- would play his husband to sleep with the works of his fingers across the violin strings, his body swaying to the song he played out quietly into the silent flat as John watched from his seat by the fire and could always feel his body relaxing before the night was up and the ebony-haired man would carefully take his love to bed.

These were the nights when the words "I love you" did not need to be spoken aloud.


End file.
